


If You Read This, Help Me

by zouissexcam



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Depression, M/M, Self-Harm, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 06:11:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zouissexcam/pseuds/zouissexcam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis pours his thoughts into a journal and Liam picks it up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Read This, Help Me

Journal Entry #1   
  
I don’t know where to start really. Rather, I don’t know when it started. It just sort of crept up on me, clawed its way into my life. I don’t want it and I sure as hell didn’t ask for it. I can’t just wish it away either, believe me, I tried.  
  
I don’t even want to tell you what it is. It’s almost as if naming it makes it seem so much more real. Then again, all I’m doing is writing my thoughts down, I’m really just writing for me aren’t I? I already know what I’m thinking, no need to put that word on the paper.  
  
What if you’re reading this right now? Not me, you. Someone who isn’t me, who shouldn’t be reading it in the first place, that probably snuck into my personal belongings while I was out and started reading my private journal.   
  
I hope to God that you aren’t the press. If you are, all the more reason not to name it.  
  
Regardless of who you are, if you read this, help me.  
  
And if I’m as careful as I hope to be, if no one reads this, then I suppose nothing changes, does it?  
  
Nothing except for me.  
….  
#2  
  
You’d think that being where I am, living your childhood dream when you’re barely out of puberty would be a guarantee that this wouldn’t happen to you. I should be able to fall asleep as soon as I get into bed, I do so much during the day it’s expected, isn’t it?  
  
I don’t sleep. Not because I’m staying up partying, or having fun, no. I’m trying to sleep. But lying in my bed, alone, with nothing more than my thoughts is terrifying. I don’t know what I might think, I don’t know what I might do. I suppose that’s why I write in you. It was a fluke that I started this. One night I just couldn’t fall asleep and my gaze landed on this notebook and I started writing. It’s soothing in a way. It’s nice to get my thoughts out somewhere, in a place where people won’t judge me, won’t look at me like I’m about to break, like I’m unstable, like I’m contagious.  
  
That’s honestly the worse.  
  
I see it a lot. Not necessarily with what I have in particular, but just with people. When they have something that isn’t normal, a disease, disorder, whatever you want to call it. The moment they tell others they become untouchable, what they have is unspeakable.  
  
They disappear and become famous all at once.  
  
I suppose that in order for everyone to ignore your existence they have to know who you are in the first place.  
  
I’ve seen it happen a lot, everyone does. I just find it weird, it doesn’t happen with normal diseases. It’s like, you get a cold, everyone you love is at your bedside in an instant.   
  
But these ones, they’re more like a social illness. You can’t physically catch one like you can a cold, but people are more afraid of contracting it. Perhaps it’s because there’s no cure. Sure, you can get ‘better’ be declared as ‘cured’ but everyone knows what you had. Everyone knows it can come back, you’re never viewed in the same way.  
  
You’re weak, selfish, an outcast, a freak.  
  
I don’t want to be that.  
  
No one does.  
…  
#3  
  
I figure I’ve had it for at least seven or eight months, probably more. It’s funny though because no one can tell. I like to pretend I’m a decent actor, but keeping this a secret shouldn’t be this easy.  
  
No. I take that back.  
  
It should be this easy. Of course it is. That’s why so many people have it and no one knows until it’s too late. No one thinks I have it because why would you think I have it?  
  
I’m the strong one. The ‘take one for the team ’person. The older brother, the confidant. The one no one ever wants to see cry.  
  
So I don’t let them see me cry since they hate witnessing it so much.  
  
After all, I wouldn’t want to start being selfish would I? That could lead down a slippery path. Everyone knows what the selfish ones end up doing.  
  
But maybe that wouldn’t be all that bad.  
…  
#4  
  
God.  
  
Did I really write that? Was that actually me? I don’t even really remember. I mean, it’s my handwriting but I was so tired. I’m always so exhausted, and that isn’t who I am.  
  
Or is it?   
  
Maybe that’s who I’ve been all along. Maybe I was born like this, maybe it’s not something you get, it’s just something you have. Maybe all the other years when I didn’t have it, I really did. Like how shingles stays under your skin, undetected until you can’t fight it anymore.  
  
Aren’t crazy people always crazy?   
  
You can’t just wake up someday with your mind completely scrambled like someone tried to make it into a breakfast dish. That’s…crazy.  
  
Crazy.  
  
Maybe that’s what I am. It would be a bit of a relief actually, crazy I can deal with.  
…  
#5  
  
Who was I trying to trick? I’m the only reading this so I don’t know why I bother lying. I’m not crazy I really do have it and it’s eating away at my insides and makes me sick.  
  
I’m nauseous really. It’s frustrating how rare it is for me to tell the truth. Everything I am at this point is one giant lie. None of it is how I really feel.   
  
The energy, the enthusiasm, the smile, the laugh, they aren’t real. They aren’t me.  
  
Granted, there are times when the mask slips, times when a close observer could tell that something is wrong, that I’m not okay. Yet, that would depend on someone actually watching close enough to notice. And that would depend on someone concerned enough to watch in the first place.  
  
Ha. There’s a real chicken and egg dilemma for you. In order for them to notice they need to be concerned, in order for them to be concerned they have to notice.  
  
I suppose I’m just helpless.  
…  
#6  
  
I wish this was some sick joke. I wish this was one of my pranks. That I could plant it in one of the boy’s beds and laugh it off when they ran up to me, absolutely horrified. I wish I couldn’t take this seriously.  
  
I’m not stupid though. I wish I was.  
…  
#7  
  
Should I be dating these? I’ve never kept a journal. I know most people have some frivolous greeting and date the entries and stuff like that but I just don’t see the point. It’s not like I’m writing for other people to see.  
  
Why would I want them to see? They know everything else about me, why can’t I keep this to myself? Even if they eventually find it at least they won’t know when I wrote it. At least I’ll get to keep that tiny shred of a secret.  
  
Isn’t life as a popstar fabulous?  
  
Sorry, I’m laughing way too hard at my own joke.  
…  
#8  
  
I hate stereotypes.   
  
Why the hell do they give them to us. We’re a boyband, not a fucking recipe. You don’t need a player and a funny one and a bad boy to make it work. Shouldn’t it just be about the voices? Why give us roles to play as well.  
  
It’s awful, having a stereotype. If I show up to an interview and I’m not outgoing and loud then people think somethings wrong with me.  
  
Nothing’s wrong with me.   
  
Nothing I want them to know about.  
  
If I did I would have told them already, so leave me alone. Stop asking me what’s wrong. Maybe I’m sick of being their dancing puppet, maybe I’m tired of being a walking zoo exhibition, maybe I’m done with this, all of this.  
  
I know what they will all say, “Why are you complaining. You asked for this, you knew what you were signing up for.”  
  
No I fucking didn’t. Fame doesn’t come with a disclaimer. No one handed me a packet of paper when we were recording our album and told me to check the little box that said “I understand the consequences of being a household name.”  
  
I asked to sing for a living. I didn’t ask for any of this other shit.   
  
I don’t want it.  
  
I don’t even want to sing anymore.  
…  
#9  
  
Someone asked me what was wrong today. I shouldn’t be surprised as to who it was. He watches me a lot but I like it. It makes me feel safe.  
  
But his eyes drew level to mine and he stared at me for a while, frowning, and then he whispered something so softly that I didn’t catch it at first.  
  
He asked me if I was okay.  
  
He didn’t have any real reason to ask at all but he did, his eyes glazed with concern, his voice lower and more gentle than usual and…I sound like a teenage girl.  
  
That’s probably what I’ve sounded like the whole time, isn’t it?  
…  
#10  
  
I wrote the word today. I actually wrote down what I have, what’s wrong with me. I still won’t write it here, who knows where this will eventually end up, but I suppose considering what I’m about to tell you I’m obviously not too concerned.  
  
I didn’t write it one a piece of paper or anywhere conventional. I wrote it, well, carved it, on my wrist. The letters are really small but I know what they say and it hurts too much to ignore. I’m the only one who needs to know.  
  
I have to admit. I always thought myself stronger than the other people who have this. I never understood why they would do that to themselves, but I just did it.  
  
It’s strangely liberating.   
  
Maybe I’ll try some other things they do.  
….  
#11  
  
I’m not joking. If you’re reading this right now, help me.  
  
Please.  
  
I need it, I just don’t know how to ask for it.  
…  
#12  
  
I cried today. On his shoulder. He had asked me again, if I was I okay. I’m not okay and I told him and then cried. He just let me cry on his shirt. It was oddly pleasant.  
  
So I told him, not all if it, but some. he is an amazing listener. He just kind of looked at me and there was no judgement no disgust, just concern. afterwards he told me that I needed to get help.I suppose he might be right I’m just not ready.  
  
I’m not ready for my secret to get out. In order to get help I’d need to tell management.   
  
That story, the story that I’m mental, that I’ve snapped, that would be worth too much money for everyone to keep it quiet.  
  
I can’t handle everyone knowing. That will make it worse. I’m positive it will. I don’t want it to.  
  
So I told him I would get help. I promised.  
  
Promises are for children anyways.  
…  
  
 _Secrets are for people who have no one to tell the truth to._  
  
…  
#13  
  
What? Secrets are for what?  
  
I didn’t write that.  
  
Why would I?  
  
Someone else did. Are they reading my journal, do they know everything I’m thinking. Or perhaps I should say are you reading everything I’m thinking, since you obviously are.   
  
Who are you?  
…  
#14  
  
Hmm, nine days without a response, I suppose it was just a one time thing, an anomaly, whatever.  
  
I don’t need anyone to support me anyways.  
…  
#15  
  
It’s getting worse and I don’t know what to do. I’m scared. I can’t control who I am anymore and I don’t know what will happen if I don’t stop it but I don’t know how I can stop it.  
…  
#16  
  
My wrists are always itching now, like I need to scratch them. The problem is, my nails won’t get rid of the itch.  
  
It only stops when the blood starts.  
  
Someone help me.  
…  
 _Why do you do it?_  
…  
#17  
  
Do what?  
…  
 _Cut yourself. I want to understand so I can help you stop. You’re too beautiful to hurt yourself. You have so many people who care about you, we don’t want you in pain._  
…  
#18  
  
Who are you?  
…  
 _Who are **you**?_  
…  
#19  
  
I don’t know why I’m explaining this, I mean, I suppose someone besides the two of us will eventually read this so I guess that could be my justification.   
  
So mysterious third, fourth, fifth person wondering if I’ve just lost my mind when you saw a conversation begin in my journal, do not worry. I’m sane.  
  
Well, I’m not  _in_ sane.  
  
You see, someone else is reading my journal, and writing back to me. I don’t know why, but it’s oddly comforting. There’s someone I can talk to without seeing them judging me, I know they are.  
  
I judge myself all the time.  
…  
 _I don’t judge you._  
  
 _I think you’re amazing and deserve everything you hope for._  
 _  
I just wish you would tell me in person what’s happening._  
…  
#20  
  
I wish you would tell me in person that I deserve happiness. It’s hard to believe words that are written on a piece of paper when I’m surrounded by lies of that variety all the time.  
  
I don’t even know who you are.  
…  
 _I tell you in person every day._  
  
 _You just don’t want to listen to what I’m saying._  
  
 _I love you._  
 _…_  
 _Louis?_  
…  
#21  
  
I hid my journal, but I also learned who’s been writing in it. I suppose it wasn’t much of a shock considering that he was the only one to notice something was wrong with me.  
  
It was sweet of Liam to try.  
  
But the more I think about it, the less I want his help.  
  
Don’t get me wrong. I want, no, I need help, but not his. He’s the last person I want to see me break. Anyone but him, anyone.  
….  
#22  
  
It’s been two weeks since I hid my journal and he’s taken to texting me a lot. I wonder how much of my journal he read when he first stumbled across it. He must not have read all of it because he’s not too worried.  
  
I know he didn’t read all of it because some of the pages I rip out and burn after I write them.  
  
Some of them are too scary for me. Too troubling to keep.  
…  
#23  
  
He kissed me today.   
  
We were alone in a hotel room, the other lads had gone to get something to eat but I just didn’t feel like dealing with the mob of girls outside the hotel. He stayed with me.  
  
I don’t really remember how it happened though. I do remember glancing over and seeing his eyes on me. They’re the most beautiful shade of brown to exist, truly.  
  
He just walked over and I think he said something to me but I was too busy staring at his eyes.   
  
He placed a hand on my shoulder and asked me if I was listening and I was honest, I said I wasn’t really paying attention.  
  
He grinned and leaned down and kissed me.  
  
His lips were soft, his hand firm around my neck so that he could hold me in place. It was perfect.  
  
He’s perfect.  
…  
#24  
  
But. Shouldn’t I feel better? Shouldn’t knowing he cares about me and about what I do and who I am make a difference. A positive one, I mean.  
  
I just feel worse.  
  
I don’t deserve him and he’s spending his free time making sure I’m happy, that I’m having a good time. I’m never happy though, it’s a waste of his effort.  
  
I want him to stop, but I don’t want to let him go.  
  
Do I love him?  
…  
#25  
  
Yes. I do love him.   
  
I love him too much to draw this out any longer. I’ve made up my mind.  
…  
#26  
  
Dear Liam,  
  
Wow. That’s the first time this has felt like writing in a diary. I don’t know what to tell you that you don’t already know. You can read through the rest of the entries and catch yourself up to speed but honestly it boils down to this. I love you. I’m not worthy of you. Knowing these things make me feel like shit, more so than I’ve been feeling like forever. But I’m also afraid of you realizing these things and leaving me. I don’t want to lose you, not like that, because if I did life wouldn’t be worth living.  
  
You’re the only thing that makes my life worth living. But not even you could make me worth the life that I’ve been privileged to live and that hurts almost as much as knowing that you’d eventually realize that I’m not good enough for you.  
  
Tell the boys I said goodbye and I love them all and to continue on without me.   
  
Love, Louis  
…  
 _Dear Louis,_  
  
 _Can you read this? I suppose that’s an odd question, I mean, how could I ever get the answer? I imagine you can and that somewhere you’re looking down and laughing at how silly I’m being. I miss your laugh. I miss you. I feel bad for waiting so long to write this, it’s been almost three months for me to pluck up the courage.I still wish you had spoken to me, I wish you had followed through on your promise and I wish I had tried harder to help you, but I failed. Now you’re not here anymore. That was the worse news I’ve ever received in my life and the worse news I’ve ever had to pass on. The memorial service was yesterday and there were no screams from the girls queued outside. Just tears. We’re not breaking up the band, that was your request  wasn’t it? To keep going without you? We are taking a break though, to sort our thoughts out._  
  
 _God. I miss you so much and it’s hard to see the paper as I’m writing this and I don’t even know what good it will be since the words are getting smudged but I need to get this out. I loved you and I will always love you no matter if you’re here to hear me say it or if you’re up there watching me write it. You were a perfect human being and every day for the rest of my life I will wonder what I could have done to prevent this._  
  
 _Who would have thought our first kiss would be our last?_  
  
 _I mean, yes, we cuddled and hugged and held hands but we never kissed again after that first time. If I had known this was our future I would have never stopped kissing you, you were everything I ever wanted and now you’re gone._  
  
 _You took me with you._  
  
 _I’m sorry._  
  
 _Love, Liam._


End file.
